Cash's Journey : Episode 9-Poop. And more poop. And yep... even more.

Welcome to the Landmines

Poop. And more poop. And yep… even more.

When I first said Cashie was incontinent, I was being incredibly polite. The truth? No bladder control, no bowel control, no warning signs—just surprise puddles and stealthy little landmines appearing wherever and whenever his body fancied.

Our home—already a chaotic symphony of two kids, one other dog, and a revolving door of shoes and toys—had officially entered its Poop Era. There wasn’t a room untouched. We were living in a Monet painting of mayhem... if Monet had a palette of beige and brown.

The Pee Patch Fix

Pee, at least, came with solutions. Belly bands and pads turned my little fluffball into what I lovingly referred to as a very composed senior in a canine diaper. With some routine, a lot of laundry, and a Costco-sized box of liners, we had a system that mostly held the tide.

But poop?

Poop was a different beast.

Dog diapers do exist—bless the wonderful weirdness of the internet—but I drew the line at trying to Velcro bloomers onto a squirmy, opinionated dog multiple times a day. He had dignity. I had limits.

Enter the Digestive Whisperer

Desperate for a miracle, I drove across town to Unleashed, a local pet boutique whispered about in dog circles for its nutritional wizardry. The legend was that Mark, the owner, could solve even the messiest mysteries of canine digestion.

And let me tell you—Mark was everything they promised. My poop guru. My raw food evangelist. My crumbly-stool savior.

He introduced me to raw food: no fillers, no fluff, just pure, natural nourishment. The science was simple—dogs digest it better, absorb more moisture, and (brace yourself)... their poop becomes hard, dry, and crumbly.

Yes. Crumbly. As in: pick-it-up-with-a-paper-towel-and-stroll-away-like-a-queen crumbly. I almost wept.

Pucks of Hope

I left Unleashed that day with 48 frozen beef patties and a dream.

Then reality hit. Our modest freezer was not designed for a hockey team’s worth of meat pucks. So I bagged them six at a time (hot tip: now’s a good time to buy stock in Ziplock). One bag thawing in the fridge, the rest teetering like a frozen game of Jenga in the deep freeze.

Over time, we found our rhythm.

Cashie preferred them slightly frozen—probably for the satisfying crunch. Josie, ever the diva, turned her nose up at her kibble and plotted daily to steal her brother’s gourmet delights. Dinner became a delicate ballet of food swaps and side-eye standoffs.

The Transformation

But the real magic? The poop.

Raw food didn’t just change his digestion—it changed everything. He was healthier. Happier. More energetic. And best of all, his poop was finally under control. No more middle-of-the-night mopping marathons. No more heartbreak at 6 a.m. discovering a minefield in the hallway.

Just small, dry nuggets of victory.

Go Raw, My Friends

So here’s what I’ll say—go raw.

For your dog’s health.
For your peace of mind.
For your sanity.
And yes… for your floors.

Because sometimes the road to healing is paved with love, frozen beef patties, and fewer surprises on the carpet.